


Clockwork ghost

by armethaumaturgy



Category: Elsword (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Steampunk, M/M, Syberia AU, or crossover whatever you want to call it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-10
Updated: 2015-12-12
Packaged: 2018-05-05 23:45:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5394731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/armethaumaturgy/pseuds/armethaumaturgy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Ah ha! I imagine that our little town must disappoint you. You see, today is very sad for us. It's a day of mourning. Today it is the funeral of Miss Eve.”</p><p>The boy in the corner mutters, “It’s so sad, but Esper is not dead. Esper is long way away. Eve told me. Eve liked me very much.”</p><p>Mastermind looks taken aback. He frowns. What? Eve is… dead? That is… Was that what the procession outside was?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> For those who have played/know Syberia, here’s a small character sheet (spoilers?):
> 
> Masi - Kate  
> Lusa - Oscar  
> Add - Momo  
> Esper - Hans  
> Eve - Anna  
> \+ others, of course

The train’s whistle rings clear and loud, overpowering the steadily dipping rain with ease. A white umbrella opens with a _swoosh_ , followed by _tap_ ping footsteps echoing over the metal platform.

The train continues on its way, leaving the lone man with a single suitcase behind.

Said man takes a look around, crossing the platform to hide himself under the roofed part so he wouldn’t accidentally get his coat wet. The whole station is strangely quiet, not a single soul to be seen anywhere. The cloudy skies make it all look very miserable, to boot.

There is only one train sitting on the rail — excluding the one that he’d just arrived on, of course — and it is a marvel to look at. Its design is slick and looks aerodynamic, and he’s sure he can catch a few glimses of the inner clockworks from the exposed parts. Even those, though, are very well hidden from the natural elements.

“How amazing,” he muses to himself as his eyes row it over. To think a single person had designed such a magnificent creation!

The man shakes his head, bringing himself out of the small reverie. He needs to get to the hotel so he wouldn’t catch a cold. Who would think that it would be so cold in the Alps? Maybe he should’ve said more attention to the weather forecast. Or the geographical position of the village.

He leaves the station, moving slowly through the winding paths until he arrives at the main street. There’s still not a soul to be found, but as he moves inthe direction of the hotel, something catches his attention.

A parade — no, a better term would be a procession — goes along the street. A carriage pulled along by a pair of mettalic horses, and a whole team of humanoid robots playing musical instruments after it.

The sound of the song is sad, though the man focuses more on the mechanical, somewhat clunky movements of the robots’ limbs that the song itself. The procession moves along, going up the hill and disappearing behind a giant gate there. One of the robots even closes the gate after them, locking it.

The man shakes his head, a wide grin spreading over his face as he processes the spectacle he’d just witnessed.

He picks up his suitcase with a grunt and moves along, careful not to step in any puddles. The hotel has a robot on its roof, one that greets him with a smooth bow whilst pulling down its equally mettalic tophat. After the movement, it retracts along the railing and hides behind the roof corner again.

The man opens the door and a small bell ovehead chimes as a welcome. Finally able to close his umbrella, he does just that, and props it into the umbrella stand before moving to pull off his coat. When he’s out of it, he takes a small moment to run his fingers through his ponytail, making sure his hair didn’t get wet. The slightly curly strands are damp, but not really wet, so he deems it fine.

The room he’s in is rather small, though he supposes it could house up to about seven people comfortably. Before him is the reception desk, the receptionist nowhere to be seen. To the right are stairs and to the left, in the far corner by the fireplace, is a table. A young boy, no more than fifteen, surely, sits on the bench and fiddles with something that’s undescernable from so far. He doesn’t even look up when he enters.

It all has a cozy feeling, especially with the sound of the firewood burning soft in the background.

He steps up to the reception desk, hand reaching out to ring the bell. He stops, blinking down at the bell. It is, in fact, another robot. A small one, holding a tiny hammer over a bell. There’s a winding key next to it that the man eagerly picks up and inserts into the robot’s back. He turns it a few times and the robot moves, pulling its hands back somehow jerkily, but then it smals the hammer down fluidly, and the bell resounds in the whole room.

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” a voice comes from the small, hidden room underneath the stairs that the man hadn’t even noticed up until now.

A tall man emerges from inside, dressed in a sleek uniform that fully paints him as the receptionist. He has dark hair that reaches down to his chin, but before he can notice any further features, the man’s attention is diverted to the receptionist’s left arm, which is entirely mettalic.

The receptionist doesn’t seem to notice his blatant stare — or he just chooses to ignore it, he’s not sure — and instead greets him, “Hello there, sir.”

“Good day. I would like a room. My company should have made a reservation. The company is Dynamos Associates. The name is Mastermind.”

“Of course, Mastermind, sir. Your room is number six on the first floor.”

The man who had introduced himself as ‘Mastermind’ smiles. “Thank you.”

“Ah ha! I imagine that our little town must disappoint you. You see, today is very sad for us. It's a day of mourning. Today it is the funeral of Miss Eve.”

The boy in the corner mutters, “It’s so sad, but Esper is not dead. Esper is long way away. Eve told me. Eve liked me very much.”

“That’s enough, Add. Stop pestering,” the receptionist grumbles. “What was I saying? Oh yes! Miss Eve. Such a great loss for Valadilene, it really is. Because now that she's dead, the factory will close. But you are here to stop that happening aren't you? Our future is in your hands, Mister Mastermind!”

Mastermind looks taken aback. He frowns. _What? Eve is… dead? That is… Was that what the procession outside was?_ He looks over his shoulder at the suitcase and frowns a little again. “That is most tragic,” he mutters. But there were paperworks for such occasions. “But, could you possibly take my luggage for me? It had been a long trip and my arms are rather tired.”

The receptionist’s face colors a faint shade of pink and he hurries to take the suitcase. “Please do excuse me, sir. We have been neglecting our duties. Guests are so rare these days that we forget our manners.”

The leads the man to the staircase, smiling again and looking at hm with something akin to hope. “So you are the American man? Is it true what people say? That you have come here to buy the factory?”

From the other side of the room, the boy finally looks up from whatever it was that he had been doing. His eyebrows are knit together and he almost yells. “It’s not a factory! It’s Eve’s house! Esper’s house!”

The receptionist glares at the boy, “Would you quiet down you mischevious little boy!”

The boy glares back at the black-haired man before throwing down the things he’d been tinkering with — Mastermind can now see that they are cogs. Just as he is, in a pair of jeans and a thin hoodie, the boy runs out of the hotel, looking as if he was close to tears.

Mastermind finds it a bit unsettling when the receptionist pretends the whole exchange didn’t happen.

He is led up to the first floor and shown to a room at the end of the corridor. “Here is your room. I hope you like it. I will leave you to rest for the time being. You must have a lot of work to do.”

With a bow, the receptionist leaves him alone in the small, yet nicely decorated room. Mastermind sighs. Yes, he has a lot to do. First of all, call his company.


	2. Chapter 1

Rrrring. Rrrring.

The ringing continues on into Mastermind’s ear, periodic and annoying, until the line gets picked up. After a few moments of waiting line music, a toneless female voice, his assistant, echoes from the reproductor.

“Dynamos Associates? How can I help you?”

“Sera, it’s me,” Mastermind replies, sitting down on the perfectly made bed. “I've just gotten to Valadilene and there's a slight problem I'm afraid.” He massages the bridge of his nose. “Isn’t there always, though? Miss Eve is dead.”

Sera hums softly. She taps away on her keyboard for a moment. “That is most unfortunate... but I seem to remember we made  provisions we made provisions for just such a sad eventuality and  we know that there was no heir.”

“Yes... that is right…”

“I would advise contacting the notary right away. I'll fax you his address and an introduction letter from the firm.”

“Very good, Sera.”

“Right, I will get to it right away. Keep us up to date, please.”

Sera hangs up and Mastermind sighs again. What a good assistent she is, he thinks.

He pockets the phone and stands up, leaving the cozy room and going back down.The receptionist is still standing by the counter, eyes flicking over the pages of some book.

“I’m back,” he greets.

The receptionist perks up, looking up immediately. “Mister Mastermind…”

“A fax didn't arrive for me, did it?”

“Maybe! I thought I heard the phone ring!”

“Do you think you might want to go and check?”

“Certainly sir. Immediately.”

“Thank you very much.”

The receptionist disappears into the small room, only to emerge a minute later with a piece of paper. He passes it to Mastermind, who quickly scans it over. Bla bla bla, undertaking negotations, bla bla bla, great sadness that we learn of the recent death, bla bla, left you instructions, bla bla, I am sure you will give our representative, Mr Mastermind, a warm welcome.

He has to stiffle a chuckle; Sera really knows how to bullshit a paper quickly. This is impressive. He folds it in half and puts it into the inside pocket of his vest.

“Thank you,” he says again.

“At your service.”

“May I ask you something?”

“Certainly.”

“Who was the boy who was playing here earlier? Is here your son?”

The receptionist laughs. “Heaven forbid! No no! Not at all! Ho ho ho! He is not a bad boy. No! Add is just a little different from others.”

“What is his connection with Miss Eve?”

“Add thinks a bit differently. He’s a genius, and Miss Eve took him under her wing. He must have reminded her of her younger brother, no doubt. And er... 'birds of a feather flock together!' don't they?”

“Add talked about Esper. Who is Esper?”

“Momo was talking about Esper, Eve’s younger brother. But he died a long time ago.”

“I see. But I’ve heard he designed quite a few of these robots you have all around town here.” Mastermind gestures to the robotic bell-ringer sitting on the counter between them, waiting to be wound up again.

“Be careful what you say! Automatons are not robots! If  you want people to like you here, never ever pronounce the word 'robot'!”

Mastermind looks a bit take aback by the receptionist’s fierceness. “Uhh, okay. What is the difference between an automaton and a 'robot’, then?”

“Er... to tell you the truth, no one really knows.”

Frowning tothe side a bit, Mastermind mentally groans. What is the point, then, if no one even knows? He doesn’t let his annoyance show on his face, though, and instead nods his head to the receptionist. “Thank you. I have to visit the notary now, so I will be back later.”

“Certainly. Since the rain’s let down, feel free to leave your umbrella here.”

He nods absently, but beforehe even thinks about leaving, he crosses the room. The table where Add had been playing is empty, save for a pair of cogs and, when he looks closely, there are indents in the table, cut out to match the cogs perfectly. He collects the cogs scattered around the wooden floor and places them onto the table. There are a few missing.

He’s sure Add would want those back. Glancing up at the receptionist, who is lazily reading his book again, he decides to pocket them instead, to give them back himself.

He dons his coat and leaves the hotel.

The whole atmosphere of the town had changed. Now that it stopped raining, birds are chirping again, their voices loud and clear and cheerful. The clouds had scattered a bit and everything looks to be much brighter. The faint odour of ozone hangs in the air.

Mastermind walks down the path and the main street. His shoes splash in the shallow puddles. He walks through the deserted town until he finds himself standing before a tall, heavily decorated and old-looking building. He checks the number plateeven though he’s sure this is the right place.

He takes the few steps up to the main entrance. There is a robot — and automaton — mounted on the left wall. It looks grotesque, with binoculars for eyes and a held-out hand. Mastermind had read how these work, though hadn’t yet seen one with his own two eyes.

He places the fax Sera had sent him into the outstretched hand and pulls the lever on the wall.

The hand moves up and the binoculars stars moving after a minute. If he wasn’t so intriqued, Mastermind would’ve recoiled in disgust.

The automaton ceases to move again and Mastermind takes the fax just as the door swings open on its squeaking hinges. He pockets it and steps inside into the waiting room.

There’s no one inside, but the place seems cluttered either way, with papers stacked all over the desk and coats thrown all across the seats.

There’s another, open door inside, beckoning him. That’s probably the notary’s office. He sighs and prepares himself for a long, long talk.

 


End file.
